~from Shunka's point of view

~if you are local to New Orleans this piece will be more amusing.. I hope... but it does seem to be my dog's way of thinking

From the Point of View of Shunka

Mornings are always good, except for when the alarm goes off. I am still not certain why mommy laughs when I let out a long deep groan. It’s not my fault I don’t like to wake up early. I do like to awaken in my satin sheets, covered in a blanket, while my people are still groggy. We are like a set of Russian Matryoshka dolls. Mommy holds me, daddy holds mommy, and we are all covered in soft downy blankets.

 The first problem comes when I realize I need to pee. I know if I get off the bed, I’m not getting back on until night time. I wag my tail, and it hits the bed rhythmically, and I know mommy’s awake when she says “STOP WAGGING!” Really its quite unfair. I only wag because I am nervous. Sometimes I wag for food, but mostly I wag when I am nervous. I cross my legs, and try to forget I need to pee, so I can stay in the bed. Then from under the covers mommy’s voice says sweetly, “Outside?” I have come to learn this is a trick question.  Paws flying everywhere I find myself at the front door. The collar goes on, I make it to the yard, and sweet relief… I pee. Trotting back to the apartment with daddy, mommy is still under the covers, I am fairly sure I can get back on the bed. So far this has never worked out to my advantage. Mommy is still not moving, but the command comes, “Put him in his house!” I turn, ears drooping, and walk myself to doggy jail. Laying on the metal floor, I sigh as daddy closes the door behind me. I am not overly concerned, because I know I will not be in here long.

I am never sure where we are going when we get in the car in the morning, but generally we go to City Park. Geese are terrifying to me and they hiss and open their wings and chase me.  I would abandon even a sandwich rather than face of a goose. Other than geese, these morning are particularly sweet.

There are always other people there, often women in long white dresses standing very still in a crowd of people. Mommy says they are having something she calls “wedding pictures” taken. Since people like me so much, I always run up to the women in the long white dress. It is then I remember that I need to take a dump. That man mommy calls the "photographer" always throws his hands up and walks away. No one else seems to mind. Mommy and daddy are not happy. Usually I end up back on my leash. There is always another bride, and always another dump to take. I have concluded that these wedding photographers are very stressed individuals “Wedding parties” always seem to laugh and want to pet me. Photographers are not so friendly.

My afternoons are spent on a contraption that mommy calls “sofa”. I hate sofa. There are many blankets and pillows on sofa, but I want to be on the bed with mommy and daddy, where they work. After all I get to sleep there, why should I have to stay on sofa? I stand at the edge of sofa, and stare, ears poked forward, knowing how cute I am, with big sad eyes. I stand, and I stand, and I stare, and I stare. Mommy keeps looking over at me. I know I have won the battle. I have successfully played the guilt card. Sometimes I get a few moments on the bed. The jump is short, and I snuggle in between mommy and daddy, my head on the pillows; after all it is MY bed! This never lasts long. In unison… mommy and daddy point at sofa, and the command comes, and I must make the jump back out of MY bed! I am writing a letter to the Humane Society about this human practice. It’s inhumane!. Just because sofa has blankets and pillows does not mean I should not have freedom of choice.

Usually mommy and daddy take me out at night. Mommy likes sunsets, and New Orleans has a lot of festivals about that time. I have been to poetry readings, learned to dance to Zydeco, and they even took me to a festival mommy called “Boogaloo”.  I don’t know what this means but it involved food, and snoballs. I love snoballs. In my letter to the humane society there will be a section calling for a new law that all dogs should receive free snoballs at festivals. Mommy and daddy always buy me one, but I have to share it with them. People at festivals give me food. I don’t know why mommy gets so angry about this, but it may have something to do with throwing up on the clean sheets of our bed the next day.

In our apartment there is a stove, and mommy cooks. For a while mommy was cooking wonderful meats, and I was getting all of the gristle. Then something terrible happened. Mommy started calling herself a “vegan”. I don’t know what this means, but suddenly there was no more meat in the house! I was horrified and longed for the smell of ribs roasting in the oven! This was unfair! Now I stand and stare at her when she cooks…. but no more gristle is tossed my way. The wafting smell of meat no longer fills our home. I don’t know what it is, but I do NOT like tofu! I have not resolved this vegan problem, but I am working on it.  

Being a dachshund is working out pretty well for me. I travel in the car in a box mommy calls “dog car seat”, meet new people, see lots of things, spend a lot of time at the park; relieving myself at many a bridal shoot. I know how to make friends and influence people. While I object to sofa, and still believe the bed belongs to me, most nights mommy tucks me in next to her, and I sleep with my paws wrapped around her neck. Mommy says it’s funny and I walk like a duck. I don’t find this is amusing. My other primary complaint is being called a “wiener-dog”. This racial slur is an outrage! Finally, the New Orleans Art Museum Sculpture Garden must change their policy and remove that racist sign that says, “No Dogs Allowed. They feature a big blue dog, but won’t let me in to see it. Other than this my life is made up of snoballs, dog food, long naps, walks in the park, and a warm bed. Life as a dachshund is a good ……except for the cat…. but that is another story. 

Reviews

[Robert Francis Callaci]

I simply love this- funny, witty and very, very, entertaining. I truly felt that this was Shunka's words. You made him come to life on the page. You made me smile and think of my own sweet dog, Bonnie, who died a few years back.

I enjoy hearing the words and thoughts of our cherished animals. Kudos

my warmest
Bob